و أمضي إلى حتفيمتثآقلة الخطى ..أتسلق ثرثرة صمتيأبحث عن مأوى لقصيدتيقبل أن أدفن ..او أكون ذآتآ .. غير التي أعرف !لِــ مـروة عبد الله

يا حزين يا قـُـمـقـُم تحت بحر الضياعحزين أنا زيـَّك و إيه مستطاع ؟!الحزن ما بقالهوش جلال يا جدع !الحزن زي البرد ... زي الصداععجبي !!!!

الاسم اهو شوية حروفالسن مش فاكر قوى الحالة راضى بحالى وبقدرى طيب ساعات ...لكنساعات شرير قوى انا مش لاقيلى اى وصف..ومش عارفلى اى حال..

Having experimented in both poetry and prose, I can say that the two are such loaded words. But neither are quite as weighted as the word “poet”. I think some people can write poetry their whole lives, and never truly BE a “poet”. Whereas I see poets in the wanderers I encounter, the baristas who serve me, and the truckers I, so, love to talk to.To be a poet in my humble opinion is to be a muse of the human experience. I love that I love the idea, that anything can be poetry, it can’t be defined. It’s a feeling, like punk rock. I’m not one for form or structure. I say if your words are visceral and honest, it’s poetry. If you see the beauty of the world and humanity, and you preach it, you’re a poet.

ආලයෙන් මම පිබිදී සිටිමිමලානික මලක් පුනරුදය ලබන්නා සේඑහෙත් එය මා පෙළයිවිහඟුන් කෙත් ඉහළ ඉගිල යයිමට අවැසියි ඔබ මුව සිඹිනවී කරලක් වන්න

Sevgili Güllük;Yastık kanepenin üzerine konur. Tekme atılarak düşürülür o. Pazar günleri kuru fasulye yenir. Karşılıklı, alt alta, üst üste ve daha değişik şekillerde durulur. Islak vardır. Portakalın içi de dışı gibi portakal rengidir. Köstebeklerin uçma kabiliyeti bulunmaz. Kamyonlar yük taşırlar. Kaza olur. Kaza yaparlar. Süleyman, Çetin, Atıf, Kemal, Necdet gibi erkek isimleri; Zeynep, Burçak, Burçak ve Burçak gibi kız isimleri vardır. Patates cinsleri vardır; kızartmalık ve haşlamalık. Çeşitli ebatlarda düğün pastaları olur. Muz olur.

البارحةحينما خرجتُ من جسدي سالماً، رأيتُكِ تركضينَ برداءٍ أسودَ ودمعةٍ أخيرة. كانَ الليلُ وقتَها على أتمِّ سوادِهِ والريحُ خلفكِ تنبح.

فِي النِّهايةِ لا مَناصَ مِنْ اعترافٍ بسيطٍ:إنَّ ما يُتقِنُهُ الوَقْتُ..لَيْسَ سِوى تَذكيرِكَكُلَّ مَرَّةٍكم هو هَشٌ وابنٌ وفيٌ للسَّرَاب..

The season was waning fastOur nights were growing cold at lastI took her to bed with silk and song,'Lay still, my love, I won’t be long...I must prepare my body for passion.''O, your body you give, but all else you ration.''It is because of these dreams of a sylvan scene...A bleeding nymph to leave me serene...I have dreams of a trembling wench.''You have dreams,' she said, 'that cannot be quenched.''Our passion,' said I, 'should never be feared...As our longing for love can never be cured...Our want is our way and our way is our will...We have the love, my love, that no one can kill.''If night is your love, then in dreams you’ll fulfill...This love, our love, that no one can kill.'Yet want is my way, and my way is my will,Thus I killed my love with a sleeping pill.

පෙම්වතිය ඔබ මල් රැගෙනමා එනතුරු රැඳෙන්නඑහෙත් මම දොරක් නැති නිවෙස් හිමියෙක්මිකිසි විටෙක ඔබට තුළට එනු පිණිසඇරයුම් නොකරනඔබට පිට ව යන්නටබල නොකරන

If"If freckles were lovely, and day was night, And measles were nice and a lie warn't a lie, Life would be delight,-- But things couldn't go right For in such a sad plight I wouldn't be I. If earth was heaven and now was hence, And past was present, and false was true, There might be some sense But I'd be in suspense For on such a pretense You wouldn't be you. If fear was plucky, and globes were square, And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee Things would seem fair,-- Yet they'd all despair, For if here was there We wouldn't be we.

i was really into communal living and we were all /such free spirits, crossing the country we were /nomads and artists and no one ever stopped / to think about how the one working class housemate / was whoring to support a gang of upper middle class / deadheads with trust fund safety nets and connecticut / childhoods, everyone was too busy processing their isms / to deal with non-issues like class....and it’s just so cool / how none of them have hang-ups about / sex work they’re all real / open-minded real / revolutionary you know / the legal definition of pimp is / one who lives off the earnings of / a prostitute, one or five or / eight and i’d love to stay and / eat some of the stir fry i’ve been cooking / for y’all but i’ve got to go fuck / this guy so we can all get stoned and / go for smoothies tomorrow, save me / some rice, ok?

When Hitler marched across the RhineTo take the land of France,La dame de fer decided,‘Let’s make the tyrant dance.’Let him take the land and city,The hills and every flower,One thing he will never have,The elegant Eiffel Tower.The French cut the cables,The elevators stood still,‘If he wants to reach the top,Let him walk it, if he will.’The invaders hung a swastikaThe largest ever seen.But a fresh breeze blewAnd away it flew,Never more to be seen.They hung up a second mark,Smaller than the first,But a patriot climbedWith a thought in mind:‘Never your duty shirk.’Up the iron ladyHe stealthily made his way,Hanging the bright tricolour,He heroically saved the day.Then, for some strange reason,A mystery to this day,Hitler never climbed the tower,On the ground he had to stay.At last he ordered she be razedDown to a twisted pile.A futile attack, for still she standsBeaming her metallic smile.

Του θεού το στάρι στα ψηλά καμιόνιατο φόρτωσαν και πάει.Μες την έρμη κι άδεια πολιεία μένειτο χέρι που μονάχαμε μπογιά θα γράψει στους μεγάλους τοίχουςΨΩΜΙ ΚΙ ΕΛΕΥΘΕΡΙΑ

أنتَ أيضاً في داخلكَ أمٌّ كالتي تخفقُ في داخلي، في قلبِ كلّ منا أمّ كاملة يا صاحبي، أمّ نفرّطُ فيها لنكون بيادق حروب، فابحثْ عن أمّكَ فيكَ،في ظلامِ روحِك الخاسرة.